


Mr. Blake

by BlessThisMess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, Coming of Age, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessThisMess/pseuds/BlessThisMess
Summary: Because of her parent's dedicated field research, Clarke becomes one of those weird homeschooled kids. She has the misfortune of being incredibly well endowed, yet under educated in the health sciences for her age group, creating the perfect storm for bullying and mal-adjustment. Mr. Blake does his best to meet Clarke's needs, but he himself is already compromised by his sexual inclinations.





	Mr. Blake

Mr. Blake | Ch.1

 

Mr. Blake stood, arms crossed, glaring at his students with palpable rage as they tittered anxiously on their way out of class. I fucking hate kids, he thought as he slammed the door shut behind them.

A muffled sniffle sounded from behind him and he took a deep breath before turning around to where Clarke Griffin was still seated at her desk, head down shoulders shaking as she silently cried into the crook of her elbow. It was shocking to see this side of her, he had thought her unflappable. 

He clenched his fists in an effort to reign in his anger and clear his head enough to figure out what to do.

“Mr. Blake?--” one of his students popped their head into the class, looked between a sobbing Clarke and the murderous expression on Bellamy’s face and quickly retreated with an, “um, I’ll come back later.”

Bellamy flipped the lock on the door, not wanting anyone else to intrude on Clarke like this, the poor girl had been through enough.

He made his way over, dragged a chair over from one of the neighboring desks and took a seat beside her.

“Hey Clarke,” he said softly, “I’m really sorry about all of them, that sucked.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows jumped in alarm, when instead of making things better, Clarke shoulders shook even harder and her sobs rang out in the empty class. 

He went and retrieved a box of tissues from one of his drawers and then awkwardly hovered over her as he realized there wasn’t enough room on the desk for the tissue box and the teenager sobbing face-down, so he sat and held it in his lap for the time being.

“Hey,” he murmured soothingly, “hey.” He reached out and rubbed her back. His large hand made her small frame look tiny, a sight which sent a surge of protectiveness and something warmer and wildly less appropriate straight through him.

He continued to rub her back in silence until her sobs died down a bit, “are you okay, Clarke?”

She finally lifted her head up and turned to look at him. “I’m fine,” she huffed at him sounding more like her stubborn, know-it-all self, except that her voice cracked clearly indicating that she was anything but fine.

He tried not to laugh, her really did, but there was something comically petulant about her attempt at making such an assertion with a scrunched up, tear-streaked face. Make no mistake, she wasn’t an ugly crier. Bellamy noted as much as he watched shiny tears cut tracks down her soft peach cheeks, red rimmed eyes transform ocean-gray irises into a Carribean blue, and puffiness around the eyes exaggerate the youthful roundness of her face. 

So stunned was he by the extent to which Clarke was not an ugly crier, Bellamy heard himself snort and chuckle before realizing he was doing it.

Bellamy took in Clarke’s raised eyebrows, his eye dropping to where her pink lips were parted in shock and swiftly interrupted his bubbling laughter with a cough, feeling like a total jerk.

Clarke covered her face with her hands and her shoulders resumed shaking. It wasn’t until her hands dropped back down to her desk, revealing a rueful half-smile, that Bellamy realized she had been laughing.

“Okay, I’m not fine,” she admitted with a rueful smirk.

“I would be surprised if you were, that was really rough earlier. I’m sorry it happened in my class.” He squeezed her shoulder, rubbing his thumb towards her clavicle and back. He could feel the dip where her bra strap weighed down on her.

“It’s not your fault,” Clarke blushed and her eyes dropped down to her desk, “this is all because of P.E. on Monday.”

Bellamy waited for her to elaborate.

“We’re doing swimming this quarter. Monday was the first day.”

Bellamy frowned at the way Clarke pulled her school blazer tightly closed around her. He noticed for the first time that she purposely wore it oversized.

She turned back to him with fresh tears in her eyes, “so they saw.”

“What did they see?” 

She motioned towards her chest as hiccupy sobs broke out, “that I’m deformed.”

“Clarke,” he pleaded. She was far from deformed but he was at a loss as to how to get her to see what he saw so plainly. “Growing up is hard, it’s hard for everyone. That’s all. I promise it gets better.”

Her sobs quieted and for a moment he thought he had made some headway until she looked up at him with bright angry eyes.

“Everyone?” She scoffed.

Startled by her anger, Bellamy let go of the tissue box balanced in his lap and it tumbled to the floor. He took a moment to bend down and pick it up, deliberately taking his time in order to find the error in his words and hopefully course correct. 

He sensed her quiet movement and assumed she was gathering her things, getting ready to get as far away from her dumb, out of touch, bumbling teacher as she could get. 

He assumed wrong.

When he looked up she was turned away from him and appeared to be fiddling with something in her lap. When she finished whatever she was doing she grabbed the lapels of her oversized blazer and began removing it. His eyes widened in alarm when creamy bare shoulders popped into view, slowly followed by the rest of her back as she removed not just her school jacket, but her white button down as well. 

He wasn’t proud that instead of stopping her his first instinct was to shoot a glance towards the classroom door. He sighed with relief remembering that it was locked and turned his attention back to his student. He needed this job so it was easy to rationalize his reaction, but as Bellamy took in Clarke’s shirt and jacket, now pooled around her waist, he felt a shameful pulse between his legs. His eyes warily traced the straps of her pink bra and he caught himself examining the clasp, knowing from experience that he could snap this particular model open with a single finger.

Clarke reached out and gripped the edge of her desk and Bellamy held his breath knowing she was about to turn around. There was the slightest hesitation before she threw her shoulders back, sat up straighter than he’d ever seen her sit, and spun around to face him. 

“Everyone?” she repeated, challenging him with an arched spine and a cocked brow. 

He almost didn’t hear her; his focus was split between not breaking eye contact and flexing his quad muscles in the hopes of diverting blood flow.

“I’m sorry,” he said, having finally figured out which toes he had stepped on, “I didn’t mean to minimize your problems.”

After a beat her sharp expression grew thoughtful. “If only you could minimize them,” she said with a shrug. Her eyes were still sad, but the barest hint of a smirk grew on her lips. 

Bellamy chuckled and shook his head, “I wouldn’t even if I could.”

Warmth crept up his neck; his words sounded different out loud. 

“You’re perfect the way you are, Clarke,” he amended, his voice tight.

He jumped when she slapped her hand against the surface of her desk.

“Yeah? You can’t even look at me.”

It was then that he realized how truly insecure she was about how she looked. He was shocked that she assumed he didn’t want to look at her. If only she could know how far from the truth that was. He started to get the sense that he was being backed into a corner. At the very least, he found it impossible to know what to do.

“Clarke, you know that’s not--”

“Oh forget it!”--she turned to face forward in her seat and reached around herself, grabbing frantically at her shirt--”This was stupid. I’m so stupid,” tears were streaming as her hand sought out one the sleeves.

With Clarke’s eye no longer on him, he allowed his own to dip down and take in her profile. Those assholes, he thought. It was criminal to make a girl with Clarke’s gifts think she was hideous. 

“Wait,”--he reached out and grabbed Clarke elbow, turning her back to face him--”just wait.” He’d already looked, he rationalized.

Her eyes were soft again, wide with uncertainty, but soft.

He reached out to her shoulder. She had managed to get one sleeve on and he dipped under the cotton, running his fingers over her shoulder and down her arm as he nudged the shirt back off. Once it was down to her elbow he reached for the arm cuff and tugged it off the rest of the way.

His eyes jumped back up to hers, holding her stare for a handful of heartbeats, making sure she was watching when he dropped his gaze down and really looked at her for the first time. His eyes traversed her throat and then her clavicle and then lower… 

His clenched his jaw, stopping himself from spitting out all the things he’s used to saying to girls who expose themselves to him and look half as good. 

Her profile had only told half the story. Now he could see how truly magnificent her tits were. The kind of breasts that would peek out at sides if he was walking behind her at the beach. The kind that were firm enough to hold their shape without a bra but soft enough to bounce at every movement. 

By the time he had fully taken them in, his dick lay thick and heavy against his thigh, threatening to become a full erection at the slightest provocation. He slid back in his chair, hunching over his lap a bit in an effort to shield himself from view. Suffice it to say that his eyes were a bit wild when he finally looked back up to meet hers. 

She looked back at him expectantly, eyebrows slightly raised, and he realized that she was waiting for his assessment, so sure of her disfigurement that she couldn’t read what was plainly written across his face.

“Well you’re definitely not deformed,” he replied, his voice thick, “more like the opposite of deformed,” he continued, making sure that she didn’t have room to second guess the meaning of his words.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

It took him a moment to find a safe answer. “It means you can be upset about the other kids being a bunch of dicks, but you shouldn’t be upset about how you look.”

She looked at him skeptically, not entirely buying what he was saying.

“Look, let me show you something.” 

He stood, taking the tissue box with him to hide his semi-chub. He was halfway to his desk when he realized that what he was about to do was perhaps crossing a line. He slowly opened his desk drawer as he considered what he was doing. He hesitated for another moment before snatching up his phone and returning to his seat beside her. 

“I confiscated this from a student earlier today,” he said, deciding his best bet was a white lie, “I want you to look at something.”

He navigated through the phone to one of the internal folders and handed it over to her, “what does that folder say?”

She looked down at the screen. “Sups Hot,” she read allowed with a quiet snort.

“Go ahead and look through that.”

He couldn’t help the heat that shot from his jaw to his spine and finally down to his groin as he watched her flip through the folder. He took in her eyes as they widened with interest at each swipe. Her breaths grew audible and he wondered if he was going to far.

“What do you see Clarke?”

She looked up at him and a deep blush descended upon her from the edge of the pink bra framing her generous cleavage, all the way up to her hairline.

“Um, lots of women?”

“What else?”

“They’re, um, they’re all naked.” 

“What else?”

“They’re def ‘sups hot’,” she said, the corner of her mouth pulling up shyly.

Bellamy barked out a laugh of surprise, “you think so?”

Clarke nodded emphatically, mirroring his smile. 

“So, Clarke, what else do these ‘sups hot’ women have in common?”

Clarke returned her eyes to the screen and flipped back and forth through a few of the pictures.

Bellamy knew there was a pretty wide variety of hair color and skin tone represented, and sure he could have been a little more varied in general body type, so sue him, but there was really only one hard rule across the whole album. To say that Bellamy was a breast man would be an understatement and thus each and every girl pictured had big tits. Not cartoon breasts, to be clear, just full, heavy breasts. Just like Clarke’s.

He leaned in so that he could see a bit of the screen and his heart stuttered at the photo Clarke was currently fixated on. It was a photo of a girl in a schoolgirl uniform with her bare breasts spilling out of her half unbuttoned white shirt. He had totally forgotten about that one.

“They have big boobs?” Clarke finally answered, interrupting his thoughts.

“Bingo,” he said, reaching out and taking the phone back from her before any other surprises popped up. “Do you think any of those women are deformed?”

“No? I dunno,” Clarke shrugged and picked at a nail, ”it’s not the same.”

“Clarke,” he looked into her eyes, making sure she was listening to him, “when you look at yourself in the mirror, what do you see?”

She frowned and shrugged at him, “I don’t.”

“You don’t what?” he asked, confused.

“I don’t look at my body in the mirror, I haven’t in a long time.” 

Bellamy looked at her in disbelief and then he was up purposefully striding towards the large cabinet that stood to the right of his desk at the head of the classroom. He opened one of the doors revealing a full length mirror affixed to the inside.

He rapped his knuckles against it, “my sister’s a sophomore here, she insisted I put this in, in case she needed it,” he explained. He beckoned to her with a flick of his head.

She crossed her arms tightly around herself, her cleavage bulging over the edge of her bra cups, as she considered the mirror. He watched her expression vacillate between fear and uncertainty as she nibbled on her lip before making his way back over to her.

He reached out a hand but she didn’t take it, instead she stood on her own and made her way towards the mirror, forcing Bellamy to side-step out of her path. That confidence set Bellamy’s chest at ease, feeling the assurance of her autonomy.

She froze a few feet before reaching the mirror and Bellamy sensed her distress. He walked up behind her resting his large hands on her naked shoulders and gently steered her forward. He made sure to keep the pressure on her shoulders light enough to make it clear that she could bow out at any moment.

He watched her breasts bounce in the mirror as she took the last few steps forward. Each bounce reverberated through his body and straight to his groin. Catching himself, he diverted his eyes to her face and realized that she was red-faced and looking at her feet instead of her reflection.

Thinking quickly, he moved to the open cabinet and pulled out a tablecloth someone had left at the last bake sale. He partially unfolded it and draped it over the cabinet door so that it covered Clarke’s reflection from the neck up.

“Clarke, just pretend it’s someone else’s body and tell me what you see.”

She shivered at the word ‘body’ and he frowned again at the level of shame she carried. 

He returned to his place behind her to rub one of her shoulders supportively and definitely not because his height and the position of the tablecloth also hid his face from view, allowing him to stare openly at her. 

Her breasts drew his eyes immediately, big surprise, they truly were magnificent. Large but still perky in the way only a teenager’s tits could be. He took in her narrow waist and the gentle slope of her hips as hinted by the outward flair of her pleated skirt.

Clarke let out a gasp and Bellamy took a panicked catalog of his body worried that he had let out the growl he was holding back or unconsciously groped her.

It wasn’t until she smoothed her hands down her sides and then back up to graze the outer slope of her breasts that he realized she was finally seeing what she looked like. She arched her back and turned sideways, causing one of her bra straps to slacken long enough to slip off her shoulder.

Bellamy reflexively reached out with his free hand to finger it back into place, but Clarke shimmied out of his grasp and he held his hands up making sure that she knew everything was in her control.

She drew a finger along the edge of the bra cup until she reached the fallen strap. Her finger twitched and then before Mr. Blake could react, she reached around, unsnapped her bra, and tossed it off to the side.

Bellamy sucked in a quick breath, his chest tight. He only caught a glimpse of her rosy pink nipples before they disappeared behind her cupped hands. He was only deprived of them briefly, however. Her small hands relaxed into the soft flesh, fingers splaying. When they curled under to lift and explore the weight of them, he couldn’t help dropping a hand to grip himself through his slacks.

All ideas of stopping this very dangerous game were overshadowed by an earnest intent to avoid eliciting or inciting any further shame where Clarke and her body were concerned, and any niggling concerns were silenced altogether by the delicious hum of his cock.

They both jumped at the trill of the cell phone. Bellamy was the first to react as he quickly dug it out of his front pocket and silenced the ringer, hoping to avoid Clarke turning to find the source of the disturbance and seeing the large tent in his pants. 

He glanced at the screen, Octavia. If he didn’t answer she would just keep calling him, or worse, come to his classroom and start banging on the door. With an impatient huff, he turned away and answered the phone.

“Hey, can I call you back?” he asked, hoping to make the interruption as quick as possible. He cringed at how thick his voice sounded. 

“Oh, I’m sorry big brother, I thought this was your free period. Did I interrupt your me time?” she asked.

“Octavia,” he warned. He wanted to kick himself, of course Octavia couldn’t be brushed off, she wouldn’t allow it. 

“Well, excuuuuse me for interrupting your very important teacher’s conference with Jergens and a box of tissues, I just thought you should know that Harper’s giving me a ride home after detention, so you don’t have to wait around. You’re welcome!”

She hung up before Bellamy could react to her being in detention, which was obviously her intention. He took a moment to marvel at how she had manipulated him into feelings of guilt and shame--this past summer she had caught him masturbating several times, among other things--before delivering the news. She knew he couldn’t dish out much of a punishment if he felt more deserving of one himself. 

He had always been very careful to keep his sex life underwraps where Octavia was concerned and he had been successful, until this summer... 

⟷

Fresh off of his first official assignment at Arkadia as one of the summer school instructors for the incoming senior class, saw him entering a sort of heat. Something about the uniforms did it for him, there was no way around it, but he suppressed those feelings as best he could until the final summer school bell rang. That afternoon he got in his car and made it a block away from the school before he pulled over, unzipped his pants, and stroked himself until the front of his button-down was a ruin of cum. 

He spent the rest of the summer in a blur of arousal. All the caution and concerted effort he put into suppressing his sexuality after Octavia was placed in his care, went out the window. Jerking off in the den, coming home at all hours of the night, fucking one night stands in the driveway--which was particularly egregious seeing as it was in direct line-of-sight of Octavia’s bedroom window--became the status quo as he tried to literally beat the lust out of his system before the new school year started. 

And it had succeeded, up until now.

⟷

He turned back to find Clarke facing him and even though he knew she could see him he couldn’t help that his gaze went straight to her oversized teardrop breasts. He cleared his throat and forced himself to meet her eyes, but she wasn’t looking at his face at all. Instead, she was focused on his phone. 

“That’s your phone...?” she finally said, in little more than a whisper...


End file.
